Tale of Two Suicides
by gemathyst
Summary: Ten years ago, two suicides were committed. Now, Nishikado Soujirou enlists the help of famed detective James McGill to dig below the surface and find out if what they had all believed was the truth.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter 1 – The Meeting 

London, March 22, 2010 

The Royal Albert Hall, a magnificent theatre built in 1871, was to see its most highly acclaimed performance of the decade, and everybody who was anybody could be expected to attend. Having staggeringly wealthy people streaming in through its doors was not an unusual experience for the famous theatre, which had been named after Prince Albert and whose distinctive elliptical shape and arena had been inspired by Roman amphitheatres. 

Through the many decades that the hall had been in existence, it had hosted events such as the Chelsea Arts Club Ball from 1910 to 1959, the Titanic Band Memorial Concert in 1912 which had been described as the 'greatest professional orchestra ever assembled', and the Ford Motor Show. Now, 'The King's Passion' could be added to its list of honours, and organizers could boast that tickets had been sold out for four nights straight. 

It was only half an hour more before the play commenced, and the high-class aristocrats were still drifting to their places, with laughter and idle chit chat rippling among those who were already seated. There were women dressed in the highest fashion of the day, practically dripping with diamonds, and tall, distinguished-looking men clothed in immaculate tuxedoes whose price could probably support a middle-class English family for a month. 

James McGill made his way to his box seat and sat down, noting that he was the only one in the box. A tall, typically British man with soft curling brown hair and genial blue eyes, he gave the impression of a gentle, mild-mannered family man who cared more about his wife and children than anything else in the world. His appearance was deceiving. James McGill had neither wife nor child, and did not want either. They would only be cumbersome to his work, which was McGill's one and only love in life. 

Just ten minutes before the play started, a man came into the box and sat down beside McGill. McGill, more engrossed in reading the programme, scarcely noticed him and started quite violently when a voice said, "James McGill?" 

McGill turned his head to see an Asian man sitting beside him. Early thirties, rich and successful businessman, of Chinese, Japanese or Korean origins, McGill summed up instantly. Handsome. A bit of a womanizer, I'll bet. "Right the first time," he said, smiling. 

The Asian man held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you. I am Nishikado Soujirou." 

Instantly a bell rang in McGill's head. Nishikado. Nishikado Corporation, one of the biggest industries in Japan, invested in real estate, oil and mining. Net worth of hundreds of millions. McGill's eyebrows rose and he studied Nishikado Soujirou interestedly. "Are you by any chance connected to Nishikado Corporation?" 

His box mate smiled. "I'm actually the CEO of Nishikado Corporation."

"Soon to be President, I expect," McGill guessed.

"Right first time, too," Nishikado said. "Mr. McGill, I have something very important to discuss with you."

"Did you know I was going to be sitting in this very seat?" McGill questioned. 

"Quite right. I purposely came here to see you." 

"And I came here to watch the play," McGill said. 

"In that case, I shan't dally about," said Nishikado. "I have a case to offer you, Mr. McGill." 

"Something that your local police has not solved?" McGill said. 

"My local police will not solve it," Nishikado said crisply. "They are not smart enough to solve a crime committed a decade ago." 

McGill was silent for a few moments. At length he said, "They were not able to solve it when the crime was committed?" 

"They did not consider it a crime." Nishikado's voice softened. "Listen, Mr. McGill." 

"The play starts in five minutes," McGill said grumpily. 

"Then give me five minutes." Nishikado paused, then said, "A decade ago, two of my friends committed suicide a week apart. One of them took poison, the other shot himself through the head."

"Well then," McGill murmured. "I don't see the crime." 

"They committed suicide." Nishikado drew out the words. "That was what everybody thought. But not me. Not me, Mr. McGill. You see, I knew both of them through and through. They were not the type who would kill themselves. In fact, I am absolutely sure that suicide would be the very last thing either would do." He leaned forward slightly. "For the past decade, their deaths have haunted me time and again, and finally I have arrived at the conclusion that foul play had actually been committed."  

McGill said, "In order words, murder?"

"In other words…murder." Nishikado's eyes darkened. "Which is why I flew all the way down to London to meet you. So that after ten years, I can find out the _truth. _What really happened. Only you are capable of finding it out. I have investigated and found you to be the best." He scowled. "All the hard evidence is gone. The house that we were all in has been massively renovated. There are no skin samples, fingerprints have been wiped out. But there are memories. If you sit down with all the details at hand, and think, _think, _perhaps you might find something…a small detail awry…a little thing out of place…and then the truth will be brought to light…" 

The lights began to dim. McGill did not answer. 

"Think about it." Nishikado sat back in his seat. 

The entire theatre darkened. And in those few moments of darkness, McGill heard a voice beside him saying, "Makino Tsukushi and Hanazawa Rui deserve that much, Mr. McGill."


	2. Doumyouji Tsukasa

"You're out of your bloody mind. BOTH of you!" 

McGill settled back more comfortably in his chair and stifled a yawn. Across the table, Doumyouji Tsukasa glared at him malevolently as though he'd committed the worst crime in the world, but McGill wasn't fazed. He had a right to feel tired, didn't he? Jet lag? How huge was the time difference between Japan and England? They were practically on opposite ends of the earth! 

The plane ride had been comfortable, of course. Somehow, in some quirky way, he wasn't in the least surprised to discover that Nishikado owned his own private jet with his own exclusive service crew. After all, Nishikado didn't seem the type of person who would endure suffering in First Class, being served by incompetent idiots and having to put up with a lousy menu. 

"I'll say it again. Both of you are bloody insane." 

McGill tried not to yawn again, but as is usually the case, his trying to stop himself only made it worse and the yawn that he let out drew both Nishikado and Doumyouji's eyes on him. 

"If you want to sleep, why don't you go back to the hotel?" said Doumyouji irritably. 

"He's not at a hotel, he's staying at my place," said Nishikado mildly. 

"Enough!" Doumyouji roared. 

McGill sat up straight and took his first proper look at Doumyouji Tsukasa since Nishikado had dragged him over to the Doumyouji mansion. Here was a man who had everything – wealth, good looks, power, influence, a business empire at his feet…and yet, there was something that had brought all those frown lines between his eyebrows and that lifeless look in his eyes. The living dead, McGill thought. He hates himself and his life. Why?  

"Tsukushi and Rui are both dead," Doumyouji was yelling. "There's no reason why you should drag up the past again, remind us all of them…just when I'd forgotten them!" 

"_Forgotten_ them?" Nishikado let out a bark of laughter. "You've never forgotten them. None of us have. Admit it, Tsukasa. You've been haunted by their deaths as well. In the back of your head you've always known that there was something behind them dying like that."

"I don't," said Doumyouji stubbornly. 

Suddenly, an image of Tsukushi smiling and holding out her hand to him rose in his mind – the same image that appeared to him every night – and, simply to keep the tears back, he pushed it out, clenched his jaw and turned his head away. 

McGill and Nishikado shared a look. 

"If you don't want any part in this, then it's okay," said Nishikado quietly. "You know I won't ever force you to do anything you don't want to. But I'm going ahead with the investigation whether you like it or not, because if you loved Rui, then so did I. If you felt badly about Tsukushi's death, then so did I. I cared for them too." He pushed back his chair and gestured for McGill to get up too. "If you ever have a change of heart, then call me up." 

"Aunt Akina won't agree," muttered Doumyouji, his voice strained. 

"Sort yourself out first," was Nishikado's answer before he led McGill off. 

"Who is 'Aunt Akina'?" McGill asked as they got into Nishikado's shimmering silver BMW. 

"She's…was…I don't even know which tense to use." Nishikado paused. "Rui's stepmother," he said at last. "Rui's mum died at his birth, and four years later his father married Aunt Akina. She's a beautiful woman – product of plastic surgery, of course, but beautiful nonetheless – from one of the most prominent families in Japan. Fifty three to a day, but still looking like thirty three. I don't know much about her…only saw her a few times around the house, spoke to her even less, and Rui never said much about her. But she was a good mother to him. Practically brought him up all by herself, and loved him even more than if he was her own son. Rui cared more for her than anyone else in the world, even F3." 

"Come again?" McGill said. 

"F3…it used to be F4, when Rui was still alive. A nickname we call ourselves – 'we' being Tsukasa, myself, Rui and Akira. You'll see Akira later."

McGill tried unsuccessfully not to yawn again. 

"I'll bring you to the Hanazawa place tomorrow to meet Aunt Akina," Nishikado informed. "I spoke to her over the phone and she didn't sound too elated, but said okay. I have a sneaky feeling that she doesn't like me." 

"But she barely even knows you," McGill pointed out. 

"Right. She doesn't. Even less than Doumyouji Kaede, Tsukasa's mother. Now _there's_ a nutcase if you're looking for one. She'd most probably graduated from the University of the Barmies." Nishikado snorted. "Anyway, like I was saying, don't be too shocked when I take you to the Hanazawa family home." 

"No two-room cramped apartment, I presume?" said McGill dryly. 

"Let us put it this way, Mr. McGill," Nishikado paused for effect. "They would be the ones owning the block of two room apartments." 

"Why is everyone so rich?" grumbled McGill, disgruntled.

"You're talking about the four richest families in Japan, mister. What do you expect to find, us living in holes?" Nishikado retorted. "The Hanazawa family owns three major companies – Hanazawa Enterprises, which owns stock in any huge profitable company you can name; H. Property Insurance, which mainly insures ships and aeroplanes; and the Hana, which is a chain of huge departmental stores. That's all I know. Hanazawa Mareo keeps everything very hush-hush. No one has the faintest idea of how rich he really is." 

"No one really knows how rich Bill Gates is either," McGill commented.

"After Rui died, Uncle Mareo just about worked himself half to death," Nishikado said. "He had doted on Rui, given him all the love he was capable of." He sighed. "Strange to think how one person's death…or in this case, two…can affect so many people." 

McGill yawned widely. "I'm sorry, but I would like nothing better than a bed right now." 

Much later that evening, when McGill was getting his desired sleep at last, Nishikado received a call from Doumyouji. 

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," said the latter directly. "And…you're right. I have been thinking about it a lot. Sometimes I've even doubted like you have. Maybe we should…I'm still not fully for it, but if you want to go for it, then I won't go against you." 

"You'll have to get over her some time, Tsukasa," said Nishikado gently. 

He was met with a harsh laugh. "Get over her? It's as possible as you asking me to walk on egg shells and not crack any of them."

Nishikado said nothing. He knew, just as well as Mimasaka Akira did, just how much Doumyouji had loved and devoted himself to Makino Tsukushi. A spoilt, rich brat, he'd never known what it was to truly love someone until Tsukushi had blazed into his life and took over his mind and body completely. 

"And if I'm going to agree," said Doumyouji, "tell that man to get a bed every time he wants to sleep. There's only so much I can take of his yawning." 

---

Thank you all so much for your reviews…I know I've been a bit sluggish in updating the next chapter. The truth is, I've been having a bit of trouble deciding what to write in it [even though the third and fourth chapters are completed!]. 

**Windsoffortune: **Thank you for dropping by…I'm not certain if my writing style is that great, but I'm perfectly happy for you to think so, lol :P 

**GreenCookie: **I'm glad to know that the first chapter was enticing. Thanks for commenting.

**Fake-star: **You're the first one to say that my writing is British, and I'm very flattered! Don't worry about the R/T thing, the fic will be more concentrated on the crime instead of couple complications. And hey, Tsukasa is a fantastic criminal! 

**Cuppajava: **The store will empty itself out…hopefully…if I actually finish it! ;)

**Jeanna: **Thanks! I'll try to maintain the standard. 

**BlackAmoria: **Rui and Tsukushi are, in fact, the main characters :) The dead can talk…

**ErieDragon: **Thank you so much! Really glad that you liked it.

**Sheilapiglet: **Frankly, I can't wait to see where this fic takes me to! 

**Abyss: **Thanks for reviewing. 


	3. The Stepmother

**Chapter 3**

Hanazawa Akina's hand shook slightly as she crossed the room and took down a glass. A mirror was before her and she studied herself critically. God, she looked terrible. Deeply etched dark circles under her eyes, ashen complexion, mussed up hair. Nothing like the stunningly lovely woman with the perfectly made up face and immaculate dressing that she usually was.

The image portrayed to the world was that of a beautiful woman in full control of herself. Dignified. Stately. Elegant.

She had been like that once.

Looking away from the mirror, she grabbed a bottle of brandy and poured it into the glass. The fiery taste would do her good now. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep since Soujirou called and informed her that he would be bringing an English detective over to look at Rui's room.

Rui…

Her boy, dead.

She closed her eyes, savouring the feel of the brandy sliding down her throat. She had a beautiful throat – Mareo never failed to tell her that when they were wrapped up in the throes of passion and he couldn't refrain from kissing her there. But that was a long time ago…

Akina put down the glass. She was trembling so mightily that she had to sit down.

Again, the name echoed in her heart.

Rui…

Her eyes roved around her bedroom and came to rest on a photograph sitting on her dressing table. One which she never failed to look at every morning while dolling herself up…staring, almost adoring the handsome young man in the picture, gazing at the world through clear, solemn dark eyes. Her baby, the one whom she'd given all of herself to…Rui, who had taken away all joy and love from her life when he died and left Mareo nothing but an empty shell.

Mareo, who had once been so alive! Mareo who'd romanced her under the stars and pursued her until she fell irrevocably, uncontrollably in love with him. Mareo, whose eyes had lit up and shone with pride whenever someone mentioned his son's name. Mareo, who was a pale shadow of his old self now, throwing himself into his work and caring for little besides his dollars and cents. Once he had been a man; now he was simply a powerhouse. And all because Rui had died.

He had been dead for ten years. Sometimes it seemed to Akina that strains of his violin music still streamed down the hallway and into her room, surrounding her with comfort and bathing the entire mansion in peace. Tortured imagination. Ten years of suffering. It was all so sickening…and oh, she regretted, yes, she regretted so much…

Now Soujirou wanted to dig out the past again. He was going to bring back all the grief, all the pain of longing. Rui's room had been locked up – now it was going to be opened again. Akina dropped her head in her hands, restraining herself from letting out a scream.

Someone knocked gently on the door and she forced herself to say, "Who is it?"

"Madam, Mr. Nishikado has arrived," said her maid's voice.

"With the British detective?" Akina asked.

"Yes, Madam, along with Mr. Mimasaka and Mr. Doumyouji."

Akina cursed inwardly. How she disliked those three men, coming in and going out as though the Hanazawa mansion was a hotel. Strutting about as though they owned the whole of Japan, and possibly the entire world, too. She had never understood Rui's attachment to them. How could he, sensitive, beautiful Rui have liked three such idiots?

Deep within her, Akina knew that her dislike of them was really due to jealousy. Jealousy that they had taken up so much of Rui's time. Jealousy that his love had been shared between the silly F3, herself and Mareo. If she had it all her way, she would have restricted Rui's love and time to merely Mareo and herself. The family. The way they should always be.

"Tell them I'll meet them in fifteen minutes," she said. Just enough time to dab on enough make up and change into the new champagne red dress that she'd purchased only the day before.

---

McGill was a well-to-do man with rich connections, but even he had never seen such an outpouring of wealth. Evidently, the Hanazawas had spared no expense on establishing a Paradise as their home. Their 70, 000 sq. ft. British colonial-style mansion stood on sixty three acres of picturesque land, on which tennis courts, an Olympic-sized swimming pool with its own mini waterfall, and a small golf course were constructed.

The mansion itself was a work of art. Someone living in it was obviously an art collector, for various pieces of 16th to 18th paintings and ancient Chinese pictures lined the walls. Each room had its own vases of fresh flowers, its own collection of antiques and art and its own style of furniture. One room would belong to a 18th century English cottage, another would be a wealthy, present day New York luxury apartment. Everywhere there were huge windows spreading from ceiling to floor, letting in sunlight and forcing people to admire the view. There were no empty, wide open spaces, cold marble floors, and unfriendly white walls. The entire mansion was rich in decoration, yet it was not so excessive that it seemed overstuffed. It was a mixture of unbelievable luxury, simplicity and comfort. 

McGill loved architecture and interior designing, and would have liked nothing better than to have a grand tour of the mansion, but Nishikado led him straight to the parlour and made him sit there. "Aunt Akina doesn't like strangers wandering about the place," was his explanation.

The parlour was a sunny, cheerful room painted in hues of pale yellow and green. Pots of plants and flowers hung at the windows and comfortable, oversized couches and armchairs, all white, were scattered generously around the room. McGill was suitably impressed with the arrangement of it all.

Then he turned to observing the two men whom Nishikado had brought along. Mimasaka Akira was a genial, good-natured, smiling man who could probably sell an icepack to an Eskimo. Doumyouji he'd met before; the same Doumyouji who was still glaring at him as though he was a sort of contagious, highly dangerous disease.

Not a very nice person, Mr. Doumyouji, thought McGill as Doumyouji walked impatiently up and down the parlour, hands in pockets and a fierce scowl on his face. Certainly not the kind whom you'd choose to approach for directions. He'd most probably chew your head off. "Bloody tourist, why don't you buy a map?" McGill could almost hear him saying.

The door opened and a beautifully maintained woman walked in, clothed in a stunning red dress that would've blown any normal person's bank account. Instantly Doumyouji stopped his pacing and the other two got up to greet her respectfully. "Aunt Akina," all three murmured.

So this is Hanazawa Akina, McGill said to himself as he got up. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "I'm James McGill."

Akina walked straight past him, her head held high, and sat down on an armchair with her back ramrod straight. "I shall not beat about the bush," she said in perfect, American-accented English. "I think it is absolutely ridiculous that anyone would want to investigate two decade old deaths, and I will not participate in something that I think is ridiculous."

Nishikado and Mimasaka exchanged glances. 'Akina the hard nut' was harder than ever.

Tsukasa blew his breath out impatiently. He had no time for this woman and he'd never had. But then again, when he thought about it – there were only two women on the entire planet that he'd ever had time for. One of them was his sister. The other…his jaw tightened and he walked to the window, clenching his fists.

"But you agreed over the phone," Nishikado protested.

"My dear," said Akina, her voice a trifle too sharp, "please do not argue with me. I have made up my mind that I shall not allow any outsiders inside Rui's room. Let the matter rest."

McGill did not miss the flash of pain in her eyes as she mentioned Rui's name.

"Don't you have the least bit of _curiosity?"_ Nishikado exploded. "Don't you want to know whether Rui really committed suicide, or whether he might actually have been murdered? Don't you want to bring the killer to justice?"

"Rui killed himself," said Akina curtly. "That is all there is to it."

"He was found with the gun in his hand, but…"

"Enough!" Akina rose to her feet. Her face was taut and she was shaking, but when she spoke again her voice was perfectly controlled. "The problem with you, my dear Soujirou, is that you have an overactive imagination and when you begin to imagine things, you tend to drag everyone else in as well. Rui's room has not been opened to anyone, not even myself, for ten years and it will remain unopened. End of story."

Mimasaka almost had to restrain Nishikado from rushing at the stubborn woman and throttling her to death.

McGill, who had remained silent, observing the scene so far, now walked up to Akina and looked down gently at her. "How it must have hurt you," he said dispassionately.

Akina started. "How must what have hurt me?"

"Your son killing himself. You loved him and gave him the best of everything, yet he still shot himself in the end. What went wrong? Why did he do such a thing? Was it through any fault of yours? Perhaps you've been blaming yourself unnecessarily for ten years. Perhaps…" he paused for effect. "I can find out the answers for you now."

Akina's lips were trembling and her eyes were wet. No one had ever spoken to her like that. No one had ever understood enough to.

"But you have to give me a chance," McGill went on. "And it is imperative that I see his room." He could see her softening, see the tremulous light in the eyes which had been so flinty only a few moments before. And he knew that the battle was won.

"Rui was a wonderful son," said Akina distantly, as though she was not speaking to him, but to someone else whom none of them could see. "He never let me down in any way…he was my joy. Mine and Mareo's." She looked at McGill almost pleadingly. "You'll remember that, won't you? Whether it was suicide or murder…he was not at fault. He would never be."


	4. Rui's Room

**Chapter 4**

Dust had settled thickly over everything in Rui's room, giving the place a dull, lifeless look. McGill stood in the middle and took in the double bed with its thick white quilt, the white curtains at the window, the desk of polished mahogany and the violin resting on a rack that were the only colours in the vastly white room. All white. Emotionless, distant, uncaring.

Yet, the whole room seemed flooded with a sort of quiet serenity about it, an almost unearthly peace. Of course, it had not been opened for years, but McGill got the feeling that even when Hanazawa Rui had been alive, the room had been exactly like that – so quiet and so peaceful.

The only thing, he thought, that holds feeling is the violin.

He walked to the violin and looked down at it. Nishikado had told him that the violin was Rui's most beloved possession; he had had it since he was five. McGill could imagine Hanazawa Rui holding the violin now, drawing the bow lightly over the strings, touching the wood gently and lovingly. Expressing his emotions through music…emotions that didn't come out in any other way.

The three men were also inside the room, standing together in a group and looking mutely at it. Then Mimasaka approached the bed and pointed to it, trying to smile. "Remember how Rui used to sleep fifteen hours a day?" he said. "He would be so pissed at us when we disturbed him. Originally he didn't have anything but the bed and the desk in here, but after Tsukasa whined on and on about not having anywhere to sit, he finally got in a sofa just to shut us up."

"Not that we sat much in it," said Nishikado soberly. "Rui didn't exactly like people in the room even if it was us. He was too private."

"It feels as though there's a ghost in here," Mimasaka muttered. "Like Rui is here, standing beside us."

"Cut the crap!" Doumyouji snapped. "You idiot. When can we get out of here?" He turned and glared at McGill. "Are you done yet? How long does one take to look at a violin?"

"Be a little more polite, Tsukasa," said Nishikado mildly. "Mr. McGill is doing a favour for us. It won't mortally wound you to be nice to him."

Doumyouji, glowering, stalked out of the room. He hated anything that reminded him of Rui and the image of his best friend slumped down in the rose garden, that damn gun in his hand. Breathing in deeply, he made his way to the kitchen to find if there was any beer in the kitchen. Oh yes, he had gotten to know the bottle very intimately in the past ten years. Too intimately, Mimasaka said. But he honestly couldn't care less. So what if he died from drinking? It would be a way out of this hell.

Back in the room, Nishikado had picked up the violin and was holding it almost reverentially. "Never thought that I'd see it in this state," he said, shaking his head. "The last time I saw it – or rather, whenever I saw it, it was in tiptop condition. Not a speck of dust on it."

"Rui never allowed a speck of dust on his violin," Mimasaka reminded him. "Sometimes I felt as though it was the only thing in life that he truly cared about. He was always so detached – like he was in a world of his own and didn't want to get out of it – but give him the violin and you'll see the transformation. It's a pity you can't get to know him, Mr. McGill. I think you would have liked him."

"It wasn't easy to like Rui," said Nishikado, replacing the violin. "Not many people did. But those who liked him, loved him."

McGill walked towards the door. "I think I get it," he said.

Mimasaka looked at Nishikado. "It's time for some lunch at that French place down the road."

---

'That French place' turned out to be a supremely elegant, classy restaurant with only fifteen tables in the house and a menu that would make your mouth water and your wallet ache at the same time. Highly skilled waiters moved quietly about, fading into the background when they were not needed and popping out instantly when they were. Heavy tapestries were hung on the walls to reduce the talking to stifled murmurs, and the tables were placed so far apart that it was practically impossible to hear what was being said by your neighbour.

Doumyouji had refused to come, muttering something about having business matters to look after. McGill had his own doubts about the business matters, but he said nothing. If the man didn't want to come, then there was no point in forcing him to. Besides, the atmosphere was always a little easier without that scowling person lounging about.

"Tsukasa isn't that bad, you know," Nishikado said after they'd placed their orders. "He is the typical 'bad-exterior-good-interior' kind of guy."

"But he got a lot worse after Tsukushi died," Mimasaka said. "He was a bad-tempered fuse before, now he's a bad-tempered time bomb."

"Yeah…" Nishikado shook his head sadly. "I don't think he's ever gotten over her dying…he was really in love with her…the most in love I've ever seen a man with a woman. Tsukushi was the sort of woman you'd walk by on the street and not even notice, but there was something incredibly special about her once you got to know her. Her indomitable spirit, her determination, her will, her generosity…"

"Tsukasa was the first one to reach the rose garden," Mimasaka said. Upon seeing McGill's slightly confused look, he explained, "Rui shot himself in the rose garden of our summer villa – the one we were all at that summer. A holiday retreat." He laughed bitterly. "Retreat, my ass."

"You can imagine how devastating it was for Tsukasa," said Nishikado. "In a space of one week, he lost his fiancée and his best friend. The four of us are close as brothers, closer, in fact – but Tsukasa always loved Rui most."

Five minutes later, they settled down to talking about the period of time which had wrought such disturbance in their lives.

"We were all at a summer villa to get away from the real world for a while," Nishikado said. "It was hidden away in this little village miles from Tokyo. Tsukasa, Tsukushi, Rui, Akira, Yuki and myself were there. Yuki was one of Tsukushi's old friends…we don't really keep in touch anymore." His voice faltered a little, but he continued, "The villa should still be there. We can always make a trip down to it if you want."

"Of course, none of us went back there again," Mimasaka said soberly. "The memories. Too much."

Just then their dishes arrived and silence prevailed as they decided to appreciate the food fully. The decoration of the dishes were sublime, and the food itself was even better. Obviously the owner had spared no expense in getting one of the finest chefs that Japan could offer.

"To tell you the truth," said Mimasaka as they lingered over their dessert much later, "I can't remember much of what happened now. When I try to think of it, all I can think of is Tsukushi's body being carted out of the house and Rui lying dead in the garden. That's all."

"Ah," said McGill softly, "that's where you're wrong. When you get down to it and really begin to start thinking, you'll find yourself starting to remember things. Significant things and not-so-significant things and the little, barely noticeable details here and there that your sub-conscious mind noticed. I would like the two of you to do a favour for me."

His companions waited quietly.

"Write an account of it for me," said McGill. "Do not leave out anything even if it seems unimportant to you."

"You mean…in point form or…?" Mimasaka said blankly.

"Anyway you like," McGill said. "But try to include the emotions of the people as well as the facts. Because you see, bare facts do not help at all in this kind of investigation." He looked at the two of them. "The bare facts are already out on the table. You were at a summer villa, Makino Tsukushi poisoned herself, Hanazawa Rui shot himself, the police assumed the two deaths to be suicides. Now we'll have to probe a bit deeper."

"I'll do my best," Nishikado promised.

"I'm a darn lousy storyteller," Mimasaka said, "but I'll do it."

"I'll also have to meet Yuki and Tsubaki," said McGill.

Nishikado looked away. Mimasaka was the one who said, "No problem."


	5. Yuki and Soujirou

**Chapter 5 – Yuki and Soujirou **

Matsuoka Yuki hurried along the streets, anxious to get home before the rain came and drenched all the laundry that she'd put out to dry that morning. She grasped her grocery bags carefully with one hand while the other frantically tried to grab at her swirling hair. She'd never liked the wind; could never understand why some people seemed to love it so much. She absolutely detested it; hated the way it messed up her hair and made her feel as though she was covered in grime and dirt from head to foot.

She glanced up briefly and caught sight of a couple strolling along, evidently enjoying the wind and enjoying being wrapped up in each other's arms. The glazed, starry look in their eyes made Yuki sick; damn it, she did hate these lovesick couples. They were a menace to society – there should be a law banning all public gestures of affection.

Get over it, Yuki, a voice within her said. You know that you're simply bitter because you're a thirty three year old spinster, living alone without even the companionship of a dog and unwanted by any man. There will never be anything in your life except cashiering day in day out for the next fifty years…just get over it and let those other people enjoy what you can't.

She thought, fleetingly, of her friend Tsukushi who'd committed suicide a decade ago. Yuki scarcely ever thought of Tsukushi now; she seemed almost unreal, as though their closeness had existed merely in her fantasies. A made up friend from her childhood, one which had disappeared as soon as she matured.

Whenever she did think of Tsukushi, though, it was a mixture of love, tenderness, and another emotion almost akin to anger. Yuki had never thought she was angry with Tsukushi until the loneliness of her life caught up with her. Anger at Tsukushi for having so much…a rich boyfriend who loved her to the death, a rich devoted friend who lent her shoulder and a lot else whenever she needed it…Tsukushi, such a favourite with F4, so much in her life to live for. Yuki hated the anger; it wasn't her. But her hatred didn't hide the fact that she had nothing.

Had never had.

Once she'd thought that there was something – more specifically, someone. Someone who could have enmeshed himself into her life and given her a reason to live.

But of course, that was a long time ago. So long, Yuki never thought of it in the daytime. In the nights, ah, that was a different story…but Yuki liked to think that one was never in control of oneself in the darkness. One was not to blame for what one thought. It was the daytime, when one was fully in control, that mattered. And she never thought of him in the daytime. Not anymore.

Just a few more steps and she would be in the elevator. Heaving a huge sigh of relief at being out of the wind at last, Yuki stepped into the lift and relaxed against the wall. It would be good to be home again; perhaps she could make herself a cup of coffee, watch a bit of TV, then cook herself a nice dinner. It had been too long since she'd actually had a good meal.

There was a man standing by her doorway, but she couldn't tell who he was from the back. Probably he was the postman, coming to deliver her some package from her family in Canada. The packages did come occasionally; they were the highlights of her life. The only things that were different from the normal routine.

She neared the door and called out, "Yes, may I help you."

The man turned around and for a moment Yuki didn't register anything except that he was tall and handsome, and wore an expensive, impeccably fitted suit.

Then it hit her like a thunderbolt, and she felt the blood draining from her face as she finally recognized who he was.

_Nishikado Soujirou._

She'd thought that she would never see him again. Not in this lifetime, nor any other. Now here he was, standing in front of her, smiling almost wistfully at her. The same smile which had captured her heart over fifteen years ago. The smile which she believed to have forgotten.

"Hello, Yuki," he said softly. _Jerk! _

"What are you doing here," she managed to mumble.

He hesitated. "I think it would be better if we could go in and talk…"

His words hung questioningly in the air between them. The very last thing that Yuki wanted was to invite him into her apartment, and he knew it…not by any supernatural telepathy, but because of the simple fact that when he'd come looking for her nine years ago, she'd told him straight out that she never wanted to see him again and that he was the last person whom she'd let into her apartment.

"You know that I don't want to talk to you." Her words came out coldly.

He sighed. "Yuki, it's been nine years. Surely we can put it all behind us…"

"And surely we can't." She remained still, glaring at him. This arrogant scumbag, this low down rotten jerk, thinking he could just walk back into her life like nothing had happened…

"Look, it's not for me, okay? I didn't come here to make up with you. I came here for Tsukushi."

Tsukushi?

"She's dead," Yuki said flatly.

"I'll go straight to the point. I'm hiring a detective to investigate Tsukushi's death, and we need your co-operation. Please, Yuki. This is very important to me…to Akira, to Tsukasa." He looked softly, tenderly at her and, unconsciously, his lips protruded into a slight pout. "Have a little sympathy, Yuki."

Yuki walked stiffly towards him and unlocked her door. "What do you know about sympathy," she bit out. "You sure didn't show me any."

He swallowed hard. "I know. I was wrong. But we'll discuss that later. Right now, I need an answer – yes or no. Will you help us or not?"

Yuki stared at him, as though trying to gauge how honest he was being. "You're investigating Tsukushi's death?" she said.

"Yes, I am."

She didn't need to ask why. She'd always known that he had doubts. Her fingers trembling slightly, she pushed open her door. "Maybe you should come in and talk," she said slowly.

Ten minutes later, Nishikado sat on the couch and regarded the woman opposite him silently. She looked far older, far more haggard than the last time he saw her. Then, she had been young and pretty and blooming, innocently attractive. Now she was pale, tired, weary of life – like a flower that had wilted because of lack of care. For a moment, he couldn't help wondering what she would look like now if he'd done what he should have for her all those years ago…

"How's your wife, Soujirou?" Yuki spoke first.

Nishikado swallowed hard. She'd deliberately asked that, knowing that the question would clarify their positions – he as another woman's husband, she as an estranged friend. "She's not my wife anymore," he said very quietly. "We divorced each other about a year ago."

"Really." Yuki's voice was flat. "Well, I guess my sympathies are called for." She looked at the clock with slight impatience. "So what is it about Tsukushi."

"I've hired this man," said Nishikado. "His name is James McGill."

"I've heard of him." Yuki looked just a little more interested now.

"He wants to meet you."

"I have no time."

"I'm writing an account of what happened and sending it to him," said Nishikado, refusing to be discouraged. "So is Akira."

"Doumyouji refused, I suppose," said Yuki. She got up and moved restlessly around the tiny apartment. "You guys have such inaccurate memories. How will Mr. McGill ever solve a crime from reading your accounts of it?" she frowned. "Tell him that I'll write one too."

There was a silence. She turned around to face him. "There, your mission is accomplished. Give me the address to send it to and I guarantee it'll be there in less than a week's time. Now, I suppose you can leave. Call me when the killer is discovered."

Nishikado got up. He could see no reason for him to hang about any longer, and yet he didn't want to go. "Yuki," he said softly, "I'm sorry."

She didn't answer.

"I've been wanting to say something to you for ten years, and this is it." He paused. "I know I was in the wrong. I made a lot of mistakes. If I could go back, I'd have done a lot of things differently."

Still she said nothing.

"I've been thinking a lot about you. If you would only give me a second chance, you know what I'd do in a split second, Yuki. But that choice is up to you. Entirely. If you ever feel like giving me that chance, I'll be waiting by the phone. Till then…I guess it's goodbye."

Yuki walked to the door and turned to look at him. Her eyes were dry and her hands were steady. "I think it's goodbye, too," she said.

And her voice didn't waver.

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A/N: Oh dear, this chapter should really be labelled "The Resurrection" shouldn't it?


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